Dear Dad,

Today is so damn hard that it makes me wonder how I've lived without you in my life for the past three weeks while managing to maintain any semblance of normalcy. Maybe Sundays will be my hardest day like they always were for Grandma.

I went to church with Christina this morning. I don't really dig the later Sunday morning mass at my new church. It's a little too Baptist for me. The music is all very modern, written within the last ten years or so, and there are drums. That's right. DRUMS. Drums don't belong in church (or at least that's what we've been brought up to believe.) Last weekend, Red and I went to the Saturday evening mass and I loved it. It felt like home...maybe because we were surrounded by old people. Let's face it, most of the congregation in Tower is old. The music was beautiful and traditional and the little drummer boy was nowhere to be seen. Still, beautiful mass or not, church is really hard for me. It feels comfortable and a little like home, but it seems the only person I can think about and pray for when I'm there is you. I don't know why I'm praying for you anymore. You're home. There's not a doubt in my mind you're already there. I just keep asking God to take good care of you...as if he wouldn't, right?

Red and I were sort of excited to go to church somewhere nobody knows us, so we wouldn't have to worry about people approaching us to say they're sorry. It's not a bad thing when people do that, and we certainly appreciate the support, but it's a lot harder to dam the tears that are already welled up in our eyes when we have people looking at us like they're going to cry too. Anyway, just before mass started, a family snuck over us into the middle of the pew and oh shit. It was my coworker, one of the guys who sits very near me in Pike Lake. During the hand-shaking peace session, he held my hand a little longer than anybody else and told me he was so sorry to hear about my dad. So yeah, I lost it. I'd hoped that was no indication of how my first week back to work would go. Unfortunately, it was. I spent a lot of time just listening to my coworkers because I was too choked up to trust my voice to respond to them.

Last night I had a dream that we were in the hospital with you and after they'd given us the news that you were most likely brain-dead, they changed their minds and decided you were going to be fine after all. If ever there was a dream I wished could come true...

Nic sold two amps on Friday, one of them to a very popular band who's nominated for a Grammy this year. My initial reaction? I can't wait to tell Dad! Before even getting excited for Nic, I thought to myself that I couldn't wait to tell you. Exciting shit isn't nearly as exciting anymore. To be honest, I feel like the happiest times in my life have already passed. As sad as that is, I'm so fucking grateful that I got to spend twenty-seven (and a half) years with you. We had some damn good times together.

Today I dragged out my box full of old cards and letters and there were so many beautiful ones from you. Birthday cards, Valentine's Day cards, cards just for the hell of it. My very favorite was an actual letter that you had written me during deer season the year that Tom came up. I can picture you sitting at the kitchen table or in the living room on the couch, writing to me. I love that you took the time to do that. I will cherish that letter until the day I die. And when I'm gone, my children will cherish it. If they don't, I'll haunt their insensitive asses. Maybe we can haunt them together! It would be fun!

Speaking of letters, Uncle John is making good on his promise to send us stories from your childhood/early adulthood. He sent the first email on Friday and, though it made me cry a little at work, I enjoyed it very much. Those memories are so special and I love that he's taking the time to share them with us.

I talked to Mom on the phone yesterday for almost an hour, which was nice. I had called her on Friday to check in, mostly because I felt guilty that I hadn't called a single time since coming back to Duluth. Taylor was there, so of course Mom couldn't focus on a conversation with me for more than five consecutive seconds (and that's being generous.) She kept talking to Taylor or laughing at Taylor in the middle of stories that I was telling her, obviously not listening to me at all, so I was like, fuck it, this conversation needs to end. Yesterday, she was alone when she called, so we were able to have a normal adult conversation. For the record, I hate, hate, hate calling home knowing there's no chance of you answering. I told Mom I'm half orphaned but, just between you and me, it feels way more like I'm three-fourths orphaned.

Before you checked out, wedding planning had become my biggest blog topic. I had even started keeping a public record of my wedding expenses, mostly because it was the most central place that my scatter-brain would be able to keep track of everything going into a middle-of-the-road wedding in Duluth. I've decided to no longer keep track, at least not here, for two reasons. Number one: my finances are not anybody else's damn business. Can I get an amen? With the exception of that typical Morley affliction of accidentally leaving price tags on gifts, your finances and everything related to them were your own business, nobody else's. Number two: after telling you how much I am spending on the deejay, I think you would shit your dead pants if you knew how much I'm spending on everything else and you're obviously reading my blog now because, duh, why else would I write to you here? (Seriously, I know that you're watching over me and can see clearly, probably without glasses because everyone's vision must be 20/20 in heaven, how much I'm spending. Calm down, Dad. I promise to never spend this much on another wedding again for as long as I live.)

You know what kills me a little more than anything else? Thinking about you in the hospital and in the ambulance, the times we weren't able to be with you. You must have been so afraid. I know you were a strong man and I can't remember you ever being afraid of anything but I think you must have been. Who wouldn't? I hope when you were scared, you thought of the good times with us and how much we love you. That's what I think about when I'm scared. It helps.

Please know that my heart is breaking without you here and I will never stop missing you.

Love,
Angela